


The State Alchemist's Exam

by Teej



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teej/pseuds/Teej
Summary: Mustang is the youngest to ever take the Exam for his time. Just what happened?





	1. The Exam

**Author's Note:**

> Any beta mistakes and continuity issues for canon are upon me. I am doing my own beta work and am trying to catch things as they come up. Rest assured, I do my best before posting, and clean up when I find them.
> 
> Also, Roy Mustang is an attention seeking pig, he hijacked my working on a huge Ishvallan / Xerxian story involving Scar, Miles and Alphonse just so I would tell his story! ;)

****

## 

**1.**

"You know, everyone is still trying to figure out where you went before you did the written." 1st Lieutenant Maes Hughes speculated for the umpteenth time. He glanced at his companion, who was stripping off his uniform jacket and draping it around a chair.

"That was weeks ago, Hughes," Mustang said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. "Old news. Besides, it was legitimate leave time."

"You sure you weren't off seeing some girl? You came back way more confident then when you left..." Hughes insinuated, tapping his glasses back up his nose.

"You can guess all you want," Mustang replied, working his fingers quickly through the buttons on the shirt. "But you'll never find out."

"I haven't really applied myself to the task yet. Don't issue me a challenge, Corporal," Hughes teased right back, "I've just been so preoccupied with my perfect, precious Gracia! She's the most gorgeous creature in the world!"

Sensing what was about to come, and burying his annoyance about it, Roy shot back, "After today, that's the last time you are calling me Corporal."

"You got to get through the exam today first, Roy."

"Don't bet against it." Mustang replied, draping the shirt over his coat. He snagged up a black tank top and tugged it over his head. "Did they get that obstacle course set up and ready?"

"Armstrong's been out there flexing his muscles for the better part of two hours. I think the examination board might be going blind by now. If that keeps up, they won't be able to see you in action. Don't worry, his crew has been making it as challenging as possible. I even walked through portions of it."

Mustang smirked as he pulled the tank top down then reached to begin unbuttoning the cape portion of his uniform, adding it to the rest of his clothes on the chair. He rolled his shoulders, then his head, loosing up the muscles of his neck.

"You're in for a challenge out there, buddy," Hughes warned.

"The bigger the better," Roy smirked in confidence. He planted a black booted foot on the chair and retucked his pants leg back into it, before switching feet and doing the other.

"See!" Hughes exclaimed, "You've been like this ever since you got back then aced that written. You had to have seen a girl!"

"Would you shut up if I told you I had?" Roy asked, reaching into his coat's pocket and extracting a pair of white gloves, he stuffed them into his back pocket and looked at Hughes.

"Not on your life!" Maes replied, turning as they heard a rapping on the door.

"They're ready, gentleman..." A voice announced.

Maes sobered up, looking Mustang in the eye. "The last eight applicants all failed their portion of this test. Are you sure you are ready for this?"

"I just love your support and encouragement, Hughes!"

"What are the three portions of this exam again?"

"Demonstration, application and examination; the latter being at the discretion of the Fuhrer."

"He rarely attends these things and he's a helluva tough customer when he does, our Fuhrer. His idea of examinations is where most entrants fail. They're wanting blood out there," Maes warned again. "That's why he's here."

Mustang just smirked reaching up to clap Hughes on the shoulder. "I've got this, Hughes. I'll jump rank past you by the day's end. Just watch."

"Oh, I plan too," Maes said. "Scored me a seat amongst the leaders, and a 100 cens bet with three Generals that you pass. Don't let me down..."

"Which three?" Roy asked, looking around the room making sure he was ready, his left hand patted his other pants pocket, satisfied that all was ready.

"I vowed secrecy, but Grumman isn't one of them, he bet 500 that you'd pass. They all think he's going senile!"

"Ha," Roy barked. "He's crazy as a fox that old man!"

"Seems to have a soft spot though where you're concerned. Wasn't he your advisor?"

"You've known that for years now, Hughes."

"Yeah yeah... You realize that they are going to be using live fire in the obstacle course portion too right?"

"I'm aware."

"That's where three of the last eight nearly got themselves killed. Good thing Doctor Marcoh's always on hand in these things."

"I'll be fine, Hughes," Roy said remembering some of the things he'd heard about the only State Alchemist who was also a one hundred percent board certified Doctor. "Though there may be a few soldiers who might get a bit singed..." He smiled wolfishly, reaching over and grabbing the door knob.

Hughes chuckled, "I am gonna love watching you go out there and try and kick some ass..."

"Try?" Mustang asked as they left the room and turned down the hallway towards the enormous open pit stadium where the exam was to be held.

"Try..." Hughes chuckled again, "People have a bad habit of underestimating you. The fireworks alone are going to fun to watch!"

They paused at the entryway into the stadium and Roy, gasping, came up short, staring out at the huge arena.

The crowd was a hell of a lot bigger than he expected. The stadium portion was two thirds packed with soldiers cramming in for the best possible view. The huge box seat area was stuffed with upper leadership and management personnel. Dead centre was Fuhrer King Bradley himself, seated comfortably, fingers steepled and tapping his chin in thought, eyepatch distinguishing him from everyone else around him. One of his adjutants, standing at ease behind his chair leaned forward and whispered and Bradley's gaze flicked towards where Mustang and Hughes stood.l

"This is definitely not a good time to get stage fright..." Hughes warned.

"Why the hell are so many people here?"

"You're the youngest entrant yet to apply for the State Alchemist program, they want to see you go down, Corporal." Hughes joked. "Upstarts in the ranks get a hell of a lot more guff then us officer candidates..."

"If I pass on my merits as an Alchemist they can't really question it now can they?"

"Jumping several ranks up is a bit hard for some to swallow though."

"Only if I don't earn it..." Roy smirked.

Hughes just smiled at him, then slapped his back and began walking away. "So get out there and earn it, Corporal!"

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Hughes..." Roy cracked, throwing a mock salute his way, then he began making his way towards the area in front of the box seats.

Once Hughes was away from him, Mustang calmed considerably, marshalling his thoughts and concentration for the exam ahead of him. This was going to be the most difficult part of his bid to become a State Alchemist. For a split second he thought about her. The only reason why he was walking so confidently before this enormous crowd, and the Fuhrer himself, was because of her and her alone. At the very least he owed her this much.

The thing she had revealed concerning her father's research, still left a knot in his stomach and a bitter taste in his mouth, but the amazing certainty that what he was about to do would guarantee his passing the exam. He wasn't afraid of not passing it, he was concerned more about people getting hurt as part of it. His requesting the large arena and custom built obstacle course guaranteed others, with live fire rounds as Hughes mentioned, would be hidden throughout the maze he was going to be plunging into.

There was a small raised portion of ground before the box seats, and as he approached it, he reflexively reached behind him. Some belts the men wore as part of their uniforms had a sheath to carry a shurikan, much like Maes did, but in Mustang's case it held a small thin metal canister. No more that two and a half inches long. Satisfied he was more than ready, he walked to the top of the mound.

One of the many adjutants in attendance with Bradley, and the several Generals present, had been selected to speak for the examination board. Roy caught sight of Grumman off to the left, glad that he was present, though knowing he wasn't a part of the exam board because of his advisory position in getting Mustang enlisted in the military in the first place.

"State your rank, please." The adjutant speaker said as Roy came to a stop.

"Corporal Roy Mustang, sir." He barely stopped himself from saluting. A quirk in the regulations for official exams was that no saluting was allowed. Several board appointed stenographers began quietly clicking away on their machines, recording the day's events. Roy's eyes roamed the seated General's and Bradley, who actually looked a little bored at the proceedings, though he was stock still, looking at Mustang like he was an insect.

"You are here taking the physical exam portion of the State Alchemy test." The adjutant said.

"Yes, sir." Roy replied, taking in the tableau before him. The general's were whispering amongst one another, some drinking from glasses of water provided, others sneaking flasks of something stronger as they settled in to watch what latest debacle would occur for them this particular sunny afternoon. More and more, it seemed, those applying for State Alchemist certification failed.

"Let the records state that Corporal Mustang has already passed the written portion of the Alchemist's exam with a perfect score. Is this correct, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Am I also correct in saying, Corporal, that you are only twenty?"

"That is correct, sir."

There were a few surprised gasps and even more guffaws followed by whispered speculations from all around him. Roy barely noticed it all as he concentrated on what was before him.

"The youngest to apply for the State Alchemist program." The adjutant replied making sure it got into the records. "State for the records, Corporal Mustang, what branch of Alchemy you are planning to specialize in."

"Flame Alchemy, sir."

That brought about even more guffaws and gasps and the adjutant, who had been carrying on with obvious boredom, actually stopped and looked at Mustang with an eyebrow raised in disdain.

"Flame Alchemy? Really?"

"Yes sir," Roy replied, growing unnaturally still, a gleam arose in his black eyes.

"Flame Alchemy has never been successfully accomplished in the State Exams... are you sure this is what you intend?"

"Yes, sir." Roy replied, eyeing the adjutant. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the white gloves he'd shoved into them earlier. On the backs, there was a large transmutation circle intricately stitched in red. Roy began tugging them on.

"The first portion of this exam is a demonstration of just what it is that you intend to do in the exam. State for the records what it is you are doing alchemically."

"I'll be altering various components and igniting them, sir." Roy had made the effort to make that part of his exam as simple and yet as open ended as he could possibly make it. It led to more scoffs and a few jeers from the surrounding crowds. He carefully hid the smirk he sorely wanted to give and smoothed out the backs of the gloves. Somewhere in the crowd to his right someone loudly mentioned something about him not wanting to get his hands dirty.

"And the necessary transmutation circle's you are planning on using?" The adjutant hadn't even looked towards Mustang as he asked his questions.

"I have chalk, in case I need to draw them, otherwise the gloves will be adequate." Roy paused, his stillness causing a few in the crowd to begin to wonder. "Sir." he added. The adjutant looked at him, that mocking eyebrow rising at the sight of the gloves on Mustang's hands.

"Well, if you are ready Corporal, give us a demonstration." The adjutant said dryly.

Roy finally let himself smirk, looking the adjutant in the eye. Not two feet in front of the man was a glass of water. Roy twisted his left wrist up and he activated the transmutation circle on the back of the glove.

Then he simply snapped his fingers.

A faint spark followed by a strange hush and a bolt of orange lightning arced through the air hitting the glass in front of the man. Fire shot straight up out of it. Seconds after the initial eruption of fire it instantly dampened down. The man jumped backwards, dropping everything in his hands as people shouted in shock.

Roy's right arm flew up and his right hand whipped back down, followed by the snap of his fingers. A multi-pronged bolt of orange lightning arced out and hit every single glass of water along the front row of spectators with the same spectacular results.

Including Bradley's.

People shouted, pandemonium hit and several higher ranking officers and their aides all dove for cover. Through the angry shouts and clamouring, Roy could hear, far to the left, Hughes distinctive laughter followed closely by Grumman's guffaws. The old man even slapping his leg at the hilarity of it all.

A third person began to laugh. He alone, of the front row spectators, hadn't moved from his seat. Roy looked at the Fuhrer, who has chuckling and idly reaching up to see if the now empty glass in front of him was hot.

The adjutant speaker had regained some of his composure. "Why you...!" he started spluttering.

"You asked for a demonstration, sir." Roy replied calmly. "You didn't specify where."

"The glass isn't even hot." Bradley said out loud. "All you did was chemically alter the water into fuel, somehow protecting the glass itself, and ignite it."

"That is correct, sir." Roy replied, seeing the amusement on the Fuhrer's face.

"I take it the gloves are some sort of pyrotechnic material?"

"Yes, sir. I just need to add a spark."

"Hmmm," Bradley murmured. "The flags in back of the grandstand." He looked at Roy. "Ignite them."

"Sir," Roy replied and looked at the fluttering green Amestrian flags that flew at the back of the stadium. There was along pause and a few people who had regained their composure began to wonder what was up. The assembled leadership all twisted, to look at the flags.

Roy stared at the seven flags a moment longer then barely moved his right hand, followed by the snap, and a spark. Streamer of fire arced crazily over the heads of the leaders and struck each flag simultaneously, causing them to erupt in flames. Pandemonium erupted again then all eyes turned on Roy. He'd barely even broken a sweat.

Bradley chuckled. "I think an apt demonstration has been given. Let's see what your practical application will be like. You can proceed."

"Sir," Roy acknowledged as Bradley waved one of his adjutants to him. He whispered quickly into the man's ear then the adjutant scurried off. Roy took a deep breath, shooting a quick smirk at the rattled adjutant speaker then began walking towards the entrance to the obstacle course.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. Be aware that I am my own beta. Any mistakes, in grammer and canon continuity are mine. I diligently go over my work before posting, but things happen and mistakes will slip through. I get them when I can.

****

## 

**2.**

 

Most courses tested one's physical abilities to complete it. Others were constructed with an eye towards tactically training individuals or teams to quickly assess situations and act. To determine who was a victim and who was an enemy, or even both, like hostage situations. Such was the case with sharpshooters and firearms training for law enforcement. In the case of an Alchemist it was a combination of both, and in Mustang's case, he'd be facing actual soldiers and actors hidden through out the course.

From his vantage point, Mustang could not see over Armstrong's stone walls, but every spectator in the stadium could see down into it. The goal of the obstacle course being that you entered at one end and got out at the other. It was a test of endurance, quick thinking, and sheer wits...

Roy tugged at the gloves on his hands and approached the entrance, a fixed smile of determination on his face. Before even entering the course he'd activated the transmutation circle, feeling the build up of energy. He stood still a few moments, sensing the currents and air movement, then cautiously took a quick glance past the entry. This first part had been set up as a maze.

Stepping through the door way, Roy released the pent up transmutic energy and snapped. The orange bolt that flew from his hand grew in speed and size, literally bounced off the walls and sped down the hallway where he could not see. It zigzagged its way ahead before exploding in a massive outburst of flame and smoke. If anyone had been in the maze of stone, he'd have heard them by now. With a smirk, Roy picked up momentum, simply following the scorch marks of the bolt as it sought escape from the maze. He made his way forward.

Murmuring and speculation was running rampant in the stadium and amongst the leadership in the box seating. No one could figure out just what this particular applicant was doing, it was all happening so fast. Was he manipulating gases? Changing the chemical make up of the air? Actually controlling the most difficult and unpredictable element of them all; fire?

Or was it all three at once?

His senses on full alert, Roy cautiously approached the exit to the maze. He poked his head quickly around the wall, and jerked back. One of the hidden soldiers instantly stitched a line of gunfire across the stone wall above Roy's head, sending chips and flakes of rock flying. Immediately a supposed 'hostage' began screaming for help.

He paused, visualizing the layout. There had been a mock 'house' set up to his left, three half buried culverts directly before him and to his right, stone 'ruins'. Peppered through out the course where small half walls of stone. Blinds used to hide a person. Mustang knew that each one would either be a combatant or a non-combatant and he'd have to react to either designation.

Mustang lifted his hand, focusing his attention on the ruins, pinpointing the location of the shooter. Stepping out into the open, he snapped his fingers and slashed the air in front of him, sending the crazy orange bolt flying towards the shooter's location. It erupted in a vertical sheet of fire driving the man backwards as Roy turned and stalked towards the house. Another 'shooter' holding the 'hostage' with a gun to the 'hostage's' head was holed up inside. Roy approached the house.

“Stay back!” The 'shooter' yelled as Roy advanced, “Stay back or I'll...” he never finished the sentence.

All he heard was the snap and the back of his jacket suddenly burst into flames. He screamed, dropping his gun, releasing the 'hostage'. A string of foul mouthed cursing burst from him as he stopped, dropped, and rolled, to extinguish the fire. In the meantime Roy had dashed through the doorway, grabbed the astonished 'hostage's' arm and roughly jerked her forward.

“Get the hell out, now!” He growled, shoving the 'hostage' towards the doorway he had just come through. He scooped up the dropped gun and stood over the 'shooter'.

“Concede,” he snarled, aiming the gun between the man's eyes.

“Dammit, you could have killed me!” The 'shooter' yelled at him. He conceded, backing away until he hit the wall. Roy saw the man's eyes shift as he kept the 'shooter's' own weapon trained on him. In a less than a blink, Roy shifted the gun from his right to his left and and he flung his right hand back.

Another snap and the resulting bolt zipped through the open window bursting into a second wall of flames behind them. Roy turned, stuffing the pistol under the waistband at his back, hurrying out of the house. Before the ruins a swearing soldier was stumbling away from a sheet of flame roaring up in front of him. If there was any doubt that Mustang was manipulating air, gas, or flames it was banished when he literally stepped into the fire. It seemed to swirl around him and away from him, leaving him unscathed.

He promptly planted a fist into the gut of the soldier who was looking to the left and right trying to figure out where Mustang was going to appear from. The last thing he expected was Mustang appearing directly in front of him. Grabbing the doubled over soldier by his jacket, Roy kneed him hard. As the soldier began to fall, Roy added a third punch to his jaw and he was down for the count. Snorting at him in contempt, Roy reached down and grabbed the rifle out of his hands.

He ejected the bullets from it then savagely flung the weapon up and to the right. He was moving before he heard it hit the ground, outside of the obstacle course. One by one Roy began methodically making his way through the 'blinds', snapping one bolt of flame after another at those participants who were 'enemy's'. His alchemy causing the air above their heads to explode, forcing them to dive for cover. On encountering a 'friendly' he refrained from snapping his fingers, hastening on to get past them.

There was a sudden shift in the stadium. So many of them had come to see another failed attempt at the State Alchemy Exam, but now they were seeing something wholly unexpected. Many who had been jeering began seeing that this particular alchemist definitely had something in his favour. What was technically a defensive style of course had suddenly been turned into an offensive course by the applicant. He was stalking his way through the course, simply using his hands to clear his way through it, to spectacular effect.

Mustang rapidly approached the more physical portion of the course. He'd scorched a trail through the half buried culverts before scrambling his way through the middle one, approaching a large section where he'd have to belly crawl under barbed wire. He paused as he exited the culvert. There was no doubt in his mind that shooters were positioned in hidden pockets and blinds to begin shooting at him when he began the belly crawl under the barbed wire. Mustang rose to his feet and in a deceptively relaxed posture, he held both hands up in front of him.

The crowd began to wonder what was happening. Mustang simply stood there a moment in front of the culverts, not moving a muscle. Jeers began to ripple through the gathered audience that he was too chicken to complete the course. Catcalls and boo's began to gain momentum.

Roy smirked, his black eyed gaze shifting briefly over the assembled crowds. He shook his head and with simultaneous snaps, he unleashed hell.

He threw both hands out away from him. Twin bolts danced a wild jig mere feet above the ground before striking the walls where possible shooters would be lying. They'd be there waiting to force him to keep his head down as he crawled under the vicious metal wire. Dual explosions erupted above the heads of the shooters, forcing every one of them to dive for cover.

Roy threw himself under the barbed wire, ignoring the yells of outrage and swearing from the soldiers in the course with him. They were still scrambling to get away from the twin walls of flames. Roy smirked and rapidly belly crawled his way under the wire.

On the other side was a large pool of water with huge sturdy poles and rungs erected over it in a jungle gym style. It was a test of upper body strength, you had to swing your way through the course, falling in the water was instant disqualification. In his case it could be a whole lot worse. He eyed the poles.

Anything could be done to them, he could even see a few that had barbed wire wrapped around them. His lips twitched, and he snapped his fingers. The orange bolt whipped ahead in a crazy jumping path along the tops of the poles. Mustang knew some of them would have been greased, in an effort to make the poles too slippery to hang on to. He waited just long enough for the grease to burn off then dampened the flames making them suddenly go out.

Pausing, he pulled the gloves off, stuffing them deep into his back pocket. With a short burst of speed, he leapt up, grabbed a hand hold on the first pole and began arduously swinging his way over the water. He was nearly two thirds of the way across when a soldier hidden behind a stone wall climb ahead of him, stepped out around it and began firing above his head.

Bullets chipped splinters off the poles as he was in mid swing, and with a gasp of surprise, Roy's right hand lost its grip. Splinters and wood chips struck his face, chest and arms. He instantly lost momentum, and without the ability to fight back alchemically, he was almost helpless, dangling by one hand above the water. With a snarl, he reached behind him and pulled the pistol he'd relieved from the earlier 'shooter'. He shot twice, causing the other soldier to duck.

Trying to capitalize on the distraction, Roy tossed the gun ahead of him, using the movement of his action to swing while he strained to do a one armed pull-up. With enormous effort, he swung out trying to grab the next rung ahead of him but his hand slipped as he grabbed for a hold. A startled cry escaped him and he swung again, everything in him straining to reach. He caught a glimpse of the soldier stepping back out from behind the wall.

Grunting with the effort, Roy swung forward, reaching out for the hold ahead of him. As he gained it, he put all his weight behind the next swing while bullets began to fly again. Having no choice, he flinched, and jerked his head as the splinters began raining around him. With the added 'incentive' he swarmed his way ahead, giving one last effort to hurl himself forward. On hitting the ground, he rolled, snagging the discarded firearm up again, and popped two more shots off at the shooter.

Mustang scrambled back to his feet, stuffing the gun behind him and pelted headlong for the wall. The tall vertical wall of stone had large ropes hanging down from it. He flung himself a good quarter of the way up, grabbing hold of the rope and hauling himself up the wall. Once at the top he straddled the top of the wall, gasping for breath, then very carefully, he stood up on top of it.

Panting, with sweat and drips of blood from the splinters running down his face, he braced his hands on his knees and looked down. A satisfied smirk stole across his face as he studied the last maze-like portion of the course. He began pulling the gloves back on his hands.

“Gentlemen,” he announced to the few soldiers he had spotted waiting to ambush him. “I'd suggest taking cover!” From his vantage point on top of the wall, Roy began raining one fire bolt after another at the heads and at the feet of the soldiers, driving them out of the remaining maze of the course.

In the grandstand, Grumman was giggling with glee, while Maes was laughing alongside him. “I knew he'd figured something out when he came back from leave! Now the arrogant bastard's just showing off,” he chortled to the General.

“Well he's putting on a good show,” Grumman chuckled. “Look at him now, its like shooting at ducks in a pond!”

Neither men noticed a slight commotion going on amongst the personnel behind the chair of the Fuhrer. The stadium crowd was both loudly jubilant and jeering.

Before long, satisfied that he'd cleared out most of the soldiers ahead of him, Roy pulled the gloves off and rappelled his way down the wall. Once at the bottom, he pulled them back on and proceeded to clear himself a path out of the course, flinging one of the zigzagging bolts through the end of the maze. He emerged out the other side to a group of disgruntled soldiers, all who began voicing their complaints at him. Several of them bore obvious marks of being singed.

Roy just shook his head as he stuffed the gloves in his back pocket and began dusting off his shirt and pants.

“The object is to get through the course, correct?” He asked. “How one gets through it, especially for an Alchemist, is never clarified. Just because I chose to go on the offence to show the application on my alchemy, and drive you all out, doesn't negate the fact I got through the course.”

He ran his hand through his black hair, further dishevelling it and he smirked at the assembled men. “You should all be glad I controlled those flames enough not to actually burn you all to a crisp.”

With that, he turned and headed to the side of the arena, to an exit that led around the course and back to the box seats.

As he returned to the front, still dusting himself off, he noticed a strange hush over the crowd. He frowned, glancing towards where Grumman was sitting and saw Maes Hughes looking at him in alarm. He looked away, sensing something and immediately pulled the gloves out of his back pocket.

Fuhrer Bradley was sitting forward now, elbows on the table, fingers steepled and he was watching Roy approach through his one good eye, narrowed in thought.

Roy stopped, facing him, his hands with his fingers splayed, were snugging the gloves down tight against the base of his fingers.

“That was an interesting offensive display, Corporal,” Bradley said. “Bent the rules quite a bit, but there is no doubt you went through course. The application of your particular Alchemy does leave a few questions. Just what exactly are you doing?”

“With respect, your excellency, as a master alchemist, I am allowed not to tell you what it is I am doing.”

“Master Alchemist? At twenty? That's impossible!” The adjutant speaker exclaimed in disbelief.

“If you would have read my application file, you would see that I completed the journeyman apprenticeship program two years ago.” Roy remarked. “I was eighteen,” he added.

The reaction to his remarks wasn't unexpected. There was an bit of an uproar at his insubordination, his offence to the Fuhrer, the sheer arrogance of refusing to answer a direct question from his superior.

Bradley chuckled, waving everyone to silence.

“You are correct in that matter, Corporal. Master alchemists are protective of their research and strategies and are allowed to withhold that information. However, I am asking only out of curiosity. Fire is the most difficult element to attempt to control. You appear to have managed it. Who sighed off on your apprenticeship?”

“General Grumman, sir,” Roy replied.

“And who was your teacher?”

“Master Berthold Hawkeye.”

“Ah, I have heard of him. He was trying to crack the secret of flame alchemy. Had something of a grudge against the military as well...”

Roy nodded his head, eyes fixed on Bradley's. Bradley just smiled, decidedly cold.

“He must have learned something though, as evidenced by what you are showing us. Tell me, where is Berthold Hawkeye? His research could prove to be most beneficial to the country.”

“With respect, your Excellency,” Roy said carefully, “Master Hawkeye is dead.”

Murmurs of astonishment burst up around the Fuhrer before he lifted a hand and silenced them.

“Dead, you say?”

“Cancer.” Roy said flatly, then added, “He was jealously secretive of his research and it died with him. Considering the nature of his studies, he refused to write things down.”

“Never wrote things down? Yet he passed that information on to you? I find that interesting. Do you also not write your notes down?”

Roy didn't reply. Bradley chuckled.

“All right, Corporal, you don't have to reveal it. However you still have one more section of this Exam to accomplish. One that is at my discretion. You have demonstrated a great proficiency at using this talent of yours in an offensive, attacking manner. Now I want to see how you defend yourself.”

Roy felt the hairs in the back of his neck rise and instinctively he went stock still, concentrating hard and trying to listen _past_ what Bradley was saying.

“One more test, Corporal,” Bradley said as the crowds around Roy began to rustle, whispering in awe and dread. Bets were furiously being exchanged and several others were were looking down at him in anticipation of his defeat. From the back of the stadium cheering began spreading towards the front.

“Two rules,” Bradley said, “No maiming and no killing. I choose one on one combat. Your opponent...”

The crowd noise suddenly changed to a combination of fear, dread and sheer bloodthirsty glee.

Someone was entering the stadium grounds.

“Your opponent, Corporal, is the Crimson Alchemist.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Folks, I want to apologize for how long it took to update this fic. I have never written a story where the conclusion turned out to be far more difficult than what I had anticipated. (Can I blame Kimblee for that?) It proved to be so hard that I was able to write a 70,000 word story and two other shorts, while trying to work this mess out. I was able to get the beginning and the ending of this chapter written but the mid portions were just flat defeating me. Saying that, I really apologize if the story falls flat. Forgive the lateness, and know that I won't ever post another story if I do not have it fully completed first!

****

## 3.

Roy heard someone behind him clap their hands together.

He didn't even hesitate, instantly he snapped his left fingers. A bolt of fire hurled to his right as he turned and threw himself head long off the mound. The area immediately exploded in a violent upthrust of dirt and rocks, the force actually lifting Roy off the ground. He tucked into a roll, landing first on his shoulder before he tumbled and came back up on to his feet. Dust billowed around him, blinding and choking, and he began coughing as he scrambled his way towards the maze entrance. 

He tripped on something, nearly falling back down, one hand landing on the object as he kept on his feet. It was the butt of the rifle he'd thrown from earlier. He snatched it up and twisted around, just long enough to get off two snaps of his fingers, towards the direction of his now laughing opponent.

A ton of recalled information streaked across Mustang's thoughts as he dove back through the course. Major Solf Kimblee, the Crimson Alchemist. He had an alchemical talent for manipulating explosions. He had a reputation for being sadistic, cruel, and several people were convinced the man was insane. Because of that, he was the most feared State Alchemist currently enlisted. He certainly did nothing to allay that thought.

"C'mon Baby Corporal!" The man's voice mocked, "Don't start running away on me. You're acting like a scared little rabbit. Stick around. Show me what you got!"

His transmutation circles, one of the sun in a triangle and one of the moon with an inverse triangle were tattooed on the palms of his hands. By clapping, he completed the combined circles and triangles into a hexagram that allowed him to control the resulting explosion. He could then direct the energy where ever he wanted. 

Roy had to get through the damn maze before Kimblee could literally bring the walls down around him. Despite Bradley's two rule policy, Roy knew Kimblee's reputation. He'd do anything to stop another opponent, rules be damned. 

A curious quirk in the acoustics of the maze let Roy hear Kimblee, who was humming to himself and cracking his knuckles as he entered the obstacle course. 

“You know Corp, I've been watching you,” Kimblee called out. “I got to admit, what you're doing is pretty cool...”

“It would be, you bastard,” Roy muttered under breath, slipping through the maze as quickly and quietly as he could. Everyone knew how much Kimblee liked to blow things up.

Unbeknownst to Roy, Kimblee had shoved his hands in his pocket and nonchalantly strolled towards the maze entrance, ignoring the dust still swirling around from his first explosion. The bystanders in the stadium seemed to eat up it with glee.

“Oh, I just love this kind of challenge! Really gets the blood boiling, makes me feel deliciously, completely, alive. Nothing beats trying out my skills against another human being. Makes the hunt real! I especially like the sound your fire strikes make...”

What the hell, Roy wondered, slipping along the last wall to the exit into the main body of the arena. He looked left towards the mock house. The three half buried culverts were before him and the stones ruins to the right. Which way to go? Kimblee's mocking words came back to him. 

“The sound your fire strikes make..?” Roy muttered as he scowled, diving right into the faux ruins.

Kimblee had a thing for sounds, Roy recalled. Especially explosive sounds. The man could rattle off, with glee, different kinds of mines used by Amestris, along with Auregan, Cretan, and Drachman types just by the sound each mine could make. The guy was known to actually volunteer to go in and clear out mines fields. He positively revelled in it.

Roy slipped in and out of the ruins, trying to come up with a plan, his frustration growing. Kimblee could literally track him if he snapped his fingers by the sound his alchemy made. Well then, it was time to fall back on plan b... the basics.

“Dammit...” he growled, finding a spot where he could observe the exit from the maze. He activated the transmutation circle on his left hand, barely catching the glint of blue light reaction, then he focused intently on the exit.

Moments later Kimblee appeared, hands in pocket, and looking for all the world like he was just out for a pleasant afternoon stroll. Almost the second he exited the maze he stopped, looking around him, at the various set ups in the course. A slow, lazy, smile spread across his face.

“You know, Corp. You really shouldn't be hiding. This is your exam, right? You should be trying to finish it with gusto. If you've got something truly unique, show it off. Instead you seem to be turning tail and running like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. That tells me you've got nothing to show.”

Kimblee, raising an eyebrow in mockery, reached up to stroke his chin and glanced towards the crowds. “It's rather disappointing really. I expected a little bit more liveliness out here. Then again, they did pit me against a baby alchemist wannabe, what was I expecting?”

Almost instantly, the crowd on the right started yelling, jeering and cheering, giving Roy's position away.

Kimblee grinned, a feeling a giddiness washing over over him. He started to laugh, feeling dizziness wash over him.

“Ohhhh! I know what you're up to now... it's not going to work. You're manipulating the oxygen. Depriving the area around me in order to make me pass out. You know, the euphoria it creates is a dead give away to an alchemist who knows his stuff right? You weren't really thinking of igniting this, now would you? You don't strike me as that ruthless... I, on the other hand, was looking for more of a challenge. Now I'm just getting bored as hell,” Kimblee clapped his hands. “Time for me to liven things up a bit!” He crouched and slapped his hands on the ground. 

The transmutic energy from his alchemy crabbed sideways towards the fake stone ruins where Mustang had hid himself and immediately exploded. Rock, dust, dirt and debris went flying. Kimblee ducked, letting out another chuckle as he heard Roy coughing.

Scowling, Roy decided to even the odds a little more. His position already given away, he glanced towards the mock house. Starting to run from his spot he snapped his right fingers, igniting the wooden structure in an all encompassing fireball. Within seconds, smoke began billowing upwards, obscuring the crowds vision in the stands. No sense in handing them something to help give him away to Kimblee, again.

He ran diagonally towards the left side berms. Shooters had been positioned there earlier when he had to crawl under the barb-wire. Roy smiled grimly, the crawl was constructed of railroad ties. Nothing created a smoke screen better than the creosote the ties had been soaked in for preservation. A left hand snap, better for smaller strikes, set the ties on fire and he dove for the berm, rolling down the back of it to hit the wall, before he was up and scrambling. 

Kimblee simply blew up the house, trying to topple the thing over to bury Mustang in flaming chunks of wood and splinters. Mustang, however, deprived the falling structure of oxygen, causing the fire to go out as the structure fell over. He twisted, as it fell, the fingers of both hands giving off a double snap. Bolts of fire streaked through the buried culverts Kimblee was walking across, before igniting in a wall of flame directly behind his opponent. 

It knocked Kimblee off his feet. 

The man rolled, getting back up and chuckling. “That's more like it! Keep it up and I'll have it figured out just what you're doing. I've already got an idea you're separating the chemical aspect of the air to create the larger bursts of fire. That's basic alchemy. You just ignite the source and that can be done with anything. No need for your fancy gloves.”

Those in the crowd who could hear Kimblee over the various noises of destruction began laughing and mocking Roy. He doubled back around the smoking timbers of the fallen house trying to get around behind his opponent.

“Or could it be that you are actually just creating arteries for the dust to get trapped in and using that for a wick by setting them on fire?” Kimblee asked.

“Which,” Roy muttered to himself, “if that were true, you're providing me ample tinder by all this dust and debris you're creating.” He fingered the strap of the rifle he still carried around his shoulder.

“Tell me, Corporal,” Kimblee asked. “Has anyone ever told you how really sexy and erotic that sound is when you set off those fire strikes? It sends shivers down my spine,” He paused, looking around trying to discern anything in the swirling smoke. “It's really seductive!”

“Come on, baby!” Kimblee taunted again as Roy circled around where he believed the Major stood. “I want to hear those fire strikes again. There's something really kinky about them that just gets right inside my...”

Kimblee never finished the sentence. 

From the billowing smoke and dust, Roy loomed up in front of him, holding the barrel of the rifle in his hands and he swung, viciously slamming the weapon across Kimblee's stomach. 

Kimblee stumbled backwards into the pool of water, barely keeping on his feet. He grabbed at his stomach as Roy swung the rifle again. Kimblee sensed it this time and scrambled backwards, further into the water. Gaining his footing he rose up, as Roy came at him again. This time he managed to grab the rifle and a furious tussle broke out between them before Kimblee managed, with a harsh bark of laughter, to rip the gun out of Roy's hands.

He was fast, Roy discovered, feeling Kimblee's hand grab at the front of his tank top. Roy tried to block him but Kimblee jerked him forwards, his other hand grabbing for Roy's wrist. Trying to twist away from the man, Roy felt Kimblee dig his fingers into the back of Roy's hand. Before he knew it, he heard fabric ripping as Kimblee viciously tore his right glove off of him.

Snarling in anger, Roy threw himself forward, causing Kimblee to stumble back in surprise before Roy managed to wrench Kimblee grip on his shirt off of him. He shoved the Major away, stumbling back himself as he activated the transmutation circle on his left hand. Kimblee instantly slapped his hands together and, even though he stood in shin deep water, he slammed his hands into the mud...

Fireball met explosion.

Both men dove for cover as the scaffolding timbers and logs around the pool blew upwards. They began to rain down around them like so many lethal pick up sticks. Uprooted from where they had been planted in the ground, more dirt, dust and smoke from the smouldering logs filled the stadium.

Not to mention mud and water from the turmoil created from the pool. 

Roy had been knocked off his feet, getting doused by a wave of muddy water and he frantically scrambled to his feet, searching for Kimblee. With dismay he realized the remaining glove was now soaked. He snorted his disgust, trying to look through all of the drifting smoke before deciding to just plunge in and search for his opponent.

Kimblee, too had been knocked over by the force of the dual blast and rose dripping, from where he had landed in the water. All the timber from the water jungle gym now lay burning and smouldering like a madman's idea of an obstacle course. He rose to his feet, looking around and shaking his head, trying to focus, wondering where the Corporal would appear next.

The last thing Kimblee expected was Roy standing in the pool of water directly in front of him. 

From the dissipating clouds of dust and smoke, Roy had appeared. He was shifted to one side, presenting as little of himself as possible and his fists where up, protecting his face. His black eyes glared at Kimblee with cold, calculating, fury. Before Kimblee could react by clapping his palms together, Roy's left fist flew and clocked him across the chin, stunning the Major just long enough for Roy to get in close.

Kimblee stumbled, trying to get his footing in the mud and debris, and threw his hands up to defend his face.

But Mustang was on him and the blows were only beginning to fly...

***

Roy practised a far more street style of hand to hand fighting and it was quite successful in driving Kimblee backwards. Punch after short punch rained into him. Every time Kimblee tried to get his palms together, Roy was there, blocking the attempt and driving another fist into Kimblee's body. He forced him back through the churned up pool. Kimblee's foot then hit a chunk of debris from the collapsed scaffolding and he fell, landing with a splash in the muddy water, half in and half out of the pool.

He started to twist, trying to get up but Mustang's booted foot slammed down on his hand with a crunch. Kimblee choked back on the cry of pain, looking up at Roy in outrage as Mustang dropped onto his chest, pinning him down with his knee. Kimblee started to struggle, and realized he was trapped.

Mustang's left hand whipped behind his back, pulling the gun out and setting the muzzle right between Kimblee's eyes. Kimblee froze, glaring up at Roy. Then Mustang's other hand reached behind him and pulled out the small metal canister in the sheath on his belt. Still holding the gun on him, Mustang used his thumb to pop the metal lid off the canister, which swung back on a tiny hinge. He then shook it upside down until a thin wooden stick appeared in a hole drilled into the top. 

Smirking, Roy nipped the stick between his teeth and pulled it out of the canister.

Kimblee's eyes widened at seeing a wooden match held neatly in Mustang's teeth. The canister vanished and Roy pulled the match out from his teeth, pinching it tightly between his thumb and index finger. His thumbnail was directly below the sulphur of the tip.

“You've got a choice,” Roy growled, “I either shoot you or pop the top off the match.”

“That glove is soaked,” Kimblee sneered. “It's useless to you.”

“True. It can't produce a spark. It still has a transmutation circle on it though and I am standing in water. All I have to do is change the basic chemical components for fuel, no spark needed, until I strike this match.” Mustang retorted, shifting slightly when Kimblee attempted to knee him. He cocked the gun. 

“Concede.”

“Like hell! You're innate sense of honour will keep you from shooting me,” Kimblee goaded. “And you'll forfeit your Exam for not using your alchemy to end it.”

Roy scowled and Kimblee laughed at him. “So if you really want to end this Exam, baby alchemist, strike that match and show us what you're really made of. Because I'm almost positive you're not controlling flames. You're just making it look like it is by basic alchemy. Simply a trickster. A charlatan. I've seen magic shows better than this!”

“You want me to strike this thing?” Roy asked, holding up the match. “You want me to prove to you I can control fire?” Roy smirked, his eyes gleaming. “You got it!” 

Kimblee saw Mustang go still, sweat mingling with the blood running down the side of Mustang's face. “You won't do it!” Kimblee sneered. “It's all for show!”

Mustang just smiled grimly and popped the top off the match.

There was a brief hiss as the sulphur ignited followed by a tiny flame. Then the world exploded in a fireball.

From the smoke enshrouded viewpoint of the crowd, the two combatants had come to a stand still at the edge of the pool. Mustang pinning Kimblee to the ground, holding a gun to his head. The next second the pool erupted in a huge explosion. A horrific roar filled the stadium as the crowd assumed that two men were being immolated in a gigantic hydrogen fuel explosion.

That was until they realized the fire was being kept to the perimeters of the pool and slowly beginning to swirl upwards like a tornado in slow motion.

Inside the apparent eye of a firestorm Kimblee looked to one side, seeing the flame being held back to the dirt line of the pool a few feet from them. He also felt no heat...

“You want to see control?” Roy asked, and he glanced to the side. The wall of fire began contracting inwards, encroaching closer to them, but staying at the dirt perimeter. A single tendril of flame snaked out from the whirling inferno to strike the ground near Kimblee's head. Before he knew it, the end of Kimblee's long ponytail had caught on fire. It didn't help it was soaking in what was tantamount to gas.

Now he really let loose a string of curses, trying to twist in an effort to put the flames out, but he was still trapped in place by Mustang. Then he realized that the fire wasn't moving any further up his hair.

He stared at Mustang who was glaring at him, concentrating hard and still keeping the flames at bay. “More proof?” Mustang asked and the wall of flame abruptly whooshed down to a wall about three feet high around them. The inside of the swirling fire expanding outwards. Several tendrils of flame snaked out, catching segments of the destroyed scaffolding on fire. Abruptly the fire went out, leaving the crowd gasping in shock.

Mustang held the tiny canister up again, shaking a match loose.

“Want to see it again?” he growled, catching the match stick with his teeth and pulling it out. Again he held it between thumb and index finger.

He struck the sulphur with his thumbnail. 

The pool itself erupted into a second fireball. This time the 'water' was on fire save for the immediate area of where Roy had Kimblee pinned. Again, a tendril of fire snaked out, and stopped just short of where Kimblee had dropped his head back into the mud. Roy was grimacing, nearly shaking at the concentration it took to keep things under control, sweat running down either side of his face.

“Shall I continue, Major Kimblee, or do you concede yet?” Mustang snarled, teasing out another tendril of flame and sending it snaking towards Kimblee's head.

“Well, colour me impressed, Corporal,” Kimblee said begrudgingly. He smirked up at Roy. “I concede.”

Roy extinguished the fire.

The stadium crowd was nearly silent with shock at what they had just seen.

Mustang gave the Major a snort of derision, then stumbled his way back onto his feet, still holding the pistol on Kimblee. He swayed, his head throbbing like it had been kicked by a mule.

“All right Major,” Fuhrer Bradley's voice sounded from somewhere to his right. “You can stand down now.”

Kimblee was rising unsteadily to his own feet, clutching his hand to his chest. “Yes sir...” He said as the Fuhrer came into their field of view. 

“I wasn't talking to you, Major Kimblee, I was addressing Major Mustang.”

Roy swayed again, stumbled a bit, before catching himself. “Major Mustang?” He asked, slowly lowering the gun.

“You heard me. I think you gave us an ample demonstration of your ability, Flame Alchemist.”

That name rang through Mustang's head. “Flame Alchemist?” he said softly. 

“Personally, I've never seen such a demonstration of alchemy quite like what we witnessed today. Congratulations, Major. I do believe this makes you the youngest person ever to become a State Alchemist in Amestrian military history. You can expect your new commission papers and your watch within the next day or two. You'll also be reassigned to Eastern Command.”

Roy, stunned, barely managed to snap off a salute, “Your Excellency.” 

Bradley acknowledged him with a nod. He stood before Roy, his face utterly impassive, looking at Mustang with just a hint of interest.

“Take the rest of the day off, Major Mustang. You look like you could use it...” Bradley added, looking at the bedraggled, soaked, and muddied new State Alchemist. He then turned on his heel and began walking away. He glanced towards Kimblee, giving the Crimson Alchemist a decidedly cold look, before he jerked his head slightly, indicating Kimblee should follow him. 

Kimblee scowled, still clutching his hand to his chest, glanced briefly at Roy and fell in behind Bradley, leaving the arena.

Roy just stood there, barely hearing the stadium noises as they began to file out. He didn't see Hughes heading for him as he felt his knees begin to buckle underneath him. The gun slipped from his fingers.

He hit the ground just as Hughes appeared at his side. 

Maes threw his arm around Roy's shoulder's, grinning like a maniac. “Well?!” He asked as Roy, tried running a wet gloved hand through his hair.

“Well what?” Roy asked, his eyes closed, trying to force the pounding headache into some sort of obedience.

“What did Bradley say!?” Hughes asked gripping Roy's arm and helping him stagger to his feet. 

“What did Bradley say, sir...” Roy corrected him.

Maes started laughing, holding a teetering Mustang upright. “Well forgive my impertinence, Major Mustang!”

“Major Mustang, sir...“ Roy corrected again and let slip a smirk at Hughes. 

Maes continued to laugh. “I have never seen anything like this in my life! You're the youngest State Alchemist in history! What did Bradley say to you?!”

“Congratulations, and to expect my new commission papers and watch in the next few days...” Roy mumbled, suddenly feeling the strain of what he had just accomplish hit him like a train. He was beginning to shake. “I've been assigned to Grumman's command.”

Maes checked at that, looking at a very pale Roy closely. “The Fuhrer wants you out of Central City? Interesting! He usually keeps his alchemists close by... Why would he want you out of Central?” He started to steer Roy towards the exit of the arena. “Oh, never mind that!” He decided, “Come on, let's get you cleaned up and go celebrate!”

“I don't know if I have any energy left for that...” 

“I'm sure Madam can come up with something! She'll be thrilled,” Maes announced, draping Roy's arm over his shoulder. “Come on, _sir_...” he said dryly, “Let's go!” His laughter echoed off the walls of the arena.

***

Far, far into the night Roy tried calling her.

He was alone at last in a room he kept at Madam's place. A place he could go to for some much needed solitude. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head up with one hand and the earpiece of the phone to his ear. He was buzzing slightly, from exertion, painkillers for his pounding skull, and a few drinks. He was still reasonably sober. It had been a horrifically taxing day. Both physically and mentally.

He still marvelled though that he had reached his long sought for goal. 

Major Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. The youngest State Alchemist in Amestrian history.

Hughes and the rest of his fellow soldiers had insisted on partying to celebrate and he wasn't going to refuse that. Still, it was nice to get away from everyone at last. 

So he tried to call her to tell her the good news.

What he was hearing though wasn't entering into his comprehension.

“I'm sorry sir, but that number is no longer available. Service has been discontinued and the new owners haven't requested a phone yet.” A woman's voice said in his ear.

“Discontinued?” Roy asked.

“The service to the Hawkeye estate was disconnected about a two week ago. After the estate was sold.”

“What happened to Miss Hawkeye?” Roy automatically asked.

“I wouldn't know that, sir. All I know is that service has been disconnected and that the new owners haven't reinstalled a line to the house yet.”

“The estate was sold?” Roy asked, confused.

“I apologize sir, but I can't tell you anything more.”

“Did Miss Hawkeye leave a forwarding number, a new address? A contact somewhere?”

“I'm sorry sir, she did not.”

Roy's mouth started to open to ask another question but then he stopped, opening his eyes and staring at the floor. “All right,” he said quietly. “Thank you for your time.”

Very slowly he hung up the phone.

Where had she gone? Riza Hawkeye had vanished without so much of a trace. She'd sold the Hawkeye estate? He had wanted to tell her of this achievement, how he'd finally reached a long sought for goal at last, something she was directly involved in, but now he couldn't find her.

Roy's brows furrowed, she'd given him all of Berthold Hawkeye's books after the funeral. Not to mention the incredibly priceless culmination of his Master's research rather permanently a part of her now. She hadn't mentioned anything about selling the estate and leaving. Where could she have gone?

The pang it left behind was more physical and emotional than he wanted to admit. He looked about bleakly and with some confusion. Outside of the military, where just a very few people had his back, there was no one he cared about more. With the exception of Madam Christmas. He and Riza had 'grown up' together. Berthold, as he was dying, repeatedly had asked him to look after his daughter. 

And now she was gone. She had left behind a hole with her disappearance. Where the hell could she have gone to?

He wondered if he shouldn't try and locate her, maybe sic Hughes on trying to find her. Roy shook his head, he'd never hear the end of Hughes going on and on about finding a wife and getting married. For Hughes, marriage was a means to an end, for Roy it was a far more important commitment than that. Riza meant more to him than just that. 

He heaved a sigh, bracing his elbows on his knees and gripping his aching head in his hands. He'd finally done it, and the one person he really wanted to share his triumph with had vanished. It made his hugely historic accomplishment, Amestris' youngest ever State Alchemist, bittersweet.

He shouldn't have been so surprised though. Riza had looked so lonely that last day he had seen her.

He had vanished on her, when he had gone ahead and enlisted in the military. Now she had disappeared on him. Did he really, honestly, expect her to hang around waiting for him? 

His shoulders slumped. They were both young adults and Riza had nothing left to tie her down to her former home. All she had was his card, and nothing more. 

He should have said something more to her. It was his own damn fault. They had never committed to anything else.

Roy hung his head, running his hand across the back of his neck. The next day would open up an entirely new world for him. Yet somehow that new world just didn't feel right any more without the one person who had made it all possible.

And now she was gone.

Roy smirked sardonically. Berthold Hawkeye certainly wouldn't miss the irony of the situation. Roy had become a dog of the military, and now that dog felt like he'd just been kicked.

With a sigh he looked at his hands. “We really are despicable creatures,” he murmured. He wondered if he would ever see her again.

When he would see her next, it would be in the last place he expected. A literal hell on earth. One which he would help to create. A place in which he would go against everything he had been taught about alchemy. Abusing an incredible power against people he had hoped to be helping instead of destroying.

From the moment he had become a State Alchemist, Roy's life would never be the same again.


End file.
